


Par for the Course

by calmlikesurrender



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, M/M, Rimming, Smut, par for the course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:11:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmlikesurrender/pseuds/calmlikesurrender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Liam's filthy rich, golf is somehow a turn on, and Harry needs a lesson in the intricacies of rimming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Par for the Course

The bed dips and Liam sighs. Again.

            When a warm palm presses into his shoulder. When a soft voice whispers his name, an accent he hadn’t noticed the night before- speaking in grunts. In moans and whimpers.

            “Baby?”

            Sex always seems to make people more familiar- strangers to pet names in a few shallow thrusts.

            He groans, looking at the clock on his nightstand. 5:30.

            “Leah?”

            The hand on his shoulder moves down to his chest. Soft lips press against the back of his neck.

            “Close,” she says.

            He sighs, latching onto the sultry croon of her voice- French, maybe. She lifts to kiss his ear, his cheek, a torrent of blond hair spilling over his collarbone.

            “Lynn?”

            “So close,” she says again, this time with a chuckle.

            “I have to work,” he mumbles because he doesn’t know what else to say. Usually he takes girls for a night just to remind his father that he’s interested in them. Otherwise he gets long winded speeches about not carrying on the family name. They’re usually gone before he even wakes up. Sometimes there are scraps of paper on the nightstand. A name and a number. A winky face or a heart, a lipstick smudged kiss.

            “Laura,” she says finally- and he knew that really, it had been on the tip of his tongue- then “Can we?” slipping her hand past the band of his sweats.

            It’s the morning after all, so it doesn’t take much palming, but to be a gentleman, he insists again for good measure- “I have to work- I’ll be late”.

            “It’s Sunday,” she breathes, full lips sucking on his ear lobe, dragging it roughly between her teeth.

            They stay in bed for another hour.

            When he’s finally up and dressed, he tells the driver to take her anywhere she needs to go.  _Laura_  lifts up on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek- “I left my number on the table. Call me.”

            He won’t. But he nods anyway. Waits for her to smile before heading back inside. His butler, Fredrick, stands a bit off while he eats breakfast. He’s been with the family since before Liam was even born.

            “What are the plans for today, sir?” he asks, voice even.

            He talks between bites, sipping his coffee slowly, “I was thinking I might go see my father. Play a round or two. I’m a bit tired from last night.”

            Ever the professional, Fredrick only offers a minimal smile- the help sleep on the same level, down by the end of the hall- “Sounded like you might be.”

            He nods then, turning to leave, “I’ll ready the Rolls Royce.”

            Liam makes a face.

            “Haven’t driven the Maybach in a while, have I?”  

            Fredrick nods, “Only once, sir. The day you got it.”

            “Well, let’s take her instead.”

—

            Finally he looks across to the far off hole, to the blurry shape- tan shirt, loose navy trousers, curls so wild they might as well be an afro. He grips his club tighter when it carries again in the quiet afternoon, that easy laugh. Leaning on the club, he snaps his fingers with his other hand and his caddie scurries to his side.

            His usual, Jules, had been more-or-less promoted to his dad’s receptionist so he’d borrowed one of the newer lads. He’d blushed every few seconds, grabbing Liam’s clubs and his lucky bag, glancing over his knobby shoulders after each was placed as if he expected Liam to change his mind any moment.

            “Niall, is it?”

            The boy nods, eyes wide like he hadn’t expected Liam to remember his name.

“Sir?” wobbling a bit under the weight of Liam’s bag. To his credit, he goes almost a full five seconds before a panicked blush rushes across his pale cheeks.

            “You see that boy over there?”

            Liam nods his head in the direction of the small group. The afro-man who’s laugh seems to permeate every blissful moment of his _relaxing_  Sunday game. A smaller man with him who Liam can see is wearing head-to-toe jean, green shoes so bright they make the grass look as black as tar. And another, thinner than the other two but still really only a blob at so far a distance. The last man’s hand makes a steady trail back and forth from his lips to his side again, clearly smoking a cigarette and doing nothing to hide it. A blurred rectangle of black- hair, sunglasses, shirt, bottoms, shoes.

“Yes, sir?”

“Ever seen them here before?”

Niall blinks up at him for a moment like it’s a joke. When Liam only stares back, he clears his throat,  _god, there has to be a limit on how awkward someone can be_ , stands up on his toes as if it’ll make the men easier to see.

“I think that’s Louis Tomlinson,” Niall says then after a moment, a slow proud smile spreading across his face, “He’s been checking in with the other man for the past few days.”

“Which one?”

Niall squints, bothering his lip between his teeth.

“The one in black,” he replies, “Mr. Tomlinson’s in all blue.”

“And the other one?” Liam grits his teeth when it interrupts again, that infuriating cackle that buries itself in the pit of his spine, “the tall one with all the frizzy hair?”

Niall smiles so brightly then it takes Liam completely by surprise.

“He’s new here,” he beams, and if Liam was being honest, he’d guess someone had a bit of a crush.

“I saw him getting checked in earlier,” Niall explains, squinting again to look back at them, “He’s only been a couple times. ‘Styles’, I think,” he says, “I only caught the last name. He’s in town on business.”

Liam soaks it all up until the very last bit.

“Business?” he asks, staring back at that mop of brown hair.

“Yes, sir.”

“How old is he, d’ya think?”

Niall shuffles a bit awkwardly as if he’d rather do anything  _but_  discuss this. Maybe he’s suddenly realizing how obviously interested he seems, Liam thinks. Whatever.

“Early- mid twenties?” he says hesitantly, then again with a bit more certainty.

“With  _that_  hair? You’re sure?” He’d have thought he was a teenager certainly. That laugh, that ridiculous pompadour.

Niall sighs, the sort of melodramatic blissful sigh that’s usually reserved for bad romantic movies. When the female lead leans back against her bedroom door, a handwritten letter pressed to her chest, eyes closed.

“Come on,” Liam says suddenly, snagging his club and the ball from the T.

Niall scurries quickly after him, a few steps behind.

“Er, Where are- Uhm, Where are we going?”

Liam groans when he hears it again.  _What the hell is so funny?_

 He turns to look at Niall over his shoulder, “To get acquainted.”

 

—

            “I forgot mine at home so I had to borrow one of Louis’,” the afro-boy explains,  _Harry_. Liam had asked him why he didn’t seem comfortable with his club, “There’s an entire wall of clubs when you walk in, though. I mean an entire  _wall_. I asked to use one and do you know what they said?”

            “They’re Nathan’s,” Niall and Zayn say together then. Niall blushes, looking at him quickly. Zayn takes another slow drag, eyes closed like he’s found some strange nirvana in the poison.

            “Yeah,” Harry says, “like one guy needs a million clubs. He’s never even here. I’ve haven’t seen him once.”

            “Well, he’s the owner’s son,” Liam says, with a smile he hopes they attribute to something like mutual annoyance, “S’ gotta count for something.”

            “I met him,” Louis says then boldly, hands on his hip, watching from Liam to Harry like he’s afraid he’s being forgotten.

            “You did?” Liam asks, still watching Harry, “Well? Did he live up to his reputation?”

            Suddenly Louis is casual again now that most eyes are on him.

            “We had one night. Not too bad. He payed for everything, so that made it more bearable. Sex was shit.”

            Niall’s lips purse like he’s been sucking on something unpleasant.

            Liam laughs then, turning to Louis.

            “Is that so?”

            Louis only offers him a look that seems to  _ooze_  “I said so, didn’t I?”

            Liam focuses on Harry again then.

            “What about you? Want a go with the  _infamous_  Nathan Payne?”

            He thinks he’ll say yes for sure. To go along with his friends maybe. But he surprises him. Shrugging his shoulders, he walks over to the hole. Eying Liam from the side.

“I don’t know, I hear he’s kind of an ass,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but you know the type. A pompous dunce, I bet. Probably gets so annoyed with all his money he has to drive everyone insane just for something to do.”

And really, it’s not anything he hasn’t heard before. But never quite so bluntly and  _never_  directly to his face.

He’s about a hair’s breadth away from bursting into a fit of laughter when Harry trudges on, lining up slowly.

“I did hear one good thing, though,” lifting the club a fraction above the ground, then easing back a little, two practice swings, a third, a fourth, “apparently he’s got the face of a model and the body of a god.”

Before Liam can graciously agree, Harry leans into him a little, lowers his voice so the others can’t hear and winks at him.

“And,” he murmurs quietly, almost conspiratorially, “I hear he’s hung like a fucking  _stallion_.”

Okay, well maybe not so quietly.

There’s a loud, dying-animal-struggling-to-breathe noise and they both whip around to see Niall staring bug-eyed at them.

“It’s getting awfully late,” Zayn says suddenly with something a fraction above minimal interest, clearly not having heard Niall’s outburst, or maybe not caring, his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, hands cupped as he lights it again.

“He’s right,” Louis adds, looking up at the sky fading from dusty pinks to a brilliant blue, “Maybe we should head back.”

“I’ll stay,” Liam says, watching Harry’s club, knowing instinctively that he won’t make the shot. He’s too rough. Swinging too far back.

Four heads turn to face him.

“Wow,” Harry’s voice, still how deep it is shocks him. Every ounce of muscle under those stupid curls, “You’re staying?” he laughs, “Who’d you have to sleep with to get 24 hour privileges?”

Lining up again, low and taking another tentative swing.  _Still too headstrong_ , Liam thinks,  _No wonder he always misses._

“He’s, uh- He’s-” as if on cue, Niall blushes furiously again, pointing from Liam to Harry as his voice trails off.

Harry rolls his eyes.

Liam thrusts his hand out like he had two hours before.

“Liam,” he says, as Harry slowly accepts the shake, peering at the others anxiously like he thinks Liam’s gone mad, “Or Nathan. Nathan Payne. Liam’s my middle name.”

There it is again. The dying animal sound. This time, though, it seems to be coming from Louis.

With all the grace he can muster, he gathers his things and, with his head held high, trudges quickly across the lawn to his cart. Zayn, still puffing indulgently on his cigarette, only pats Liam on the back- “See you around, yeah?”- and offers Niall and Harry lazy nods before heading off in the direction Louis had gone.

With all manner of comebacks, or apologies, available, Harry settles for a completely different approach to the confession.

“So is it true then?” he asks, eying Liam with the same steady confident gaze as before, then letting his eyes fall quickly to his groin, “Are you really ten inches?”

Niall makes a little distressed moan as if he’s being cornered by ravenous lions, not amidst his boss and a stranger while they matter-of-factly discuss their junk.

“Not sure,” Liam says, leaning more on his club, shooting Harry back the same wink he’d offered him before, “Maybe we should measure.”

Turning away to line up again, Harry swings back hard, dragging his club into the grass and sending the ball flying. It misses, like Liam knew it would, by what looks like nearly ten feet.

He turns back, completely unphased.

“That would require an erection and some form of measurement- two things we unfortunately don’t have.”

Liam shakes his head, oddly so at ease, even with the subject matter. Maybe it was the way Harry seemed so laid back. He was easy to talk to, that was for sure. And where most people fumbled, trying to find the right words, he didn’t seem to care that Liam’s dad had enough money that he could buy Haiti if he wanted.

He smiles, “How big are you?” and Harry stills him with the naughtiest smirk he’s ever seen, gripping the ridged handle of his club a little tighter.

“Reckon we could compare?”

“I assume it’d be as good as any reference. That is,” he eases on nonchalantly, “considering you’d be up for it.”

Harry seems almost ready to respond before he bites down on his lip and groans.

“Too easy,” he murmurs, and then again when Liam laughs- “ _Just take the bait_.”

“Punny,” Harry says finally with a sigh, dragging his hand through his hair.

—

“What do I get if I make this?” Harry asks.

It’s not a bad shot really. Liam could have had it in one swing. Harry, though, is erratic. They’ve been out here for nearly two hours and he hasn’t made one in less than five tries.

Liam shrugs his shoulders, “What do you want?”

As if it was on the tip of his tongue, Harry smiles, “A kiss?”

“That’s it?”

He lights up then, running his eyes down Liam’s chest. His bright red polo, shrunk a bit in the dryer but it was still his favorite, still his lucky shirt.

“Can I have more?”

“Whatever you want.”

“All of you,” Harry says, “I want the best you’ve got.”

            “Make this hole then,” he says, “I don’t do blow jobs, but I’m pretty good with my mouth in other places. You make this, I’m yours.”

“Oral?” Harry asks, “I’ve never had anyone’s tongue down there.”

Liam nods.

He shuffles again, somehow managing to encompass shy and sex-god in a single motion, propped on his golf club. He studies Harry with something so close to  _want_  it sort of makes his knees week.

“Rimming,” he corrects, “I heard I’m not too bad.”

Harry chuckles, lines up again, swinging back a little, nearly tapping the ball before lining up again slowly. Again then again, his tongue between his teeth.

“From all the girls who’ve had the pleasure of your head between their legs?” inching back and then forward. He just about chokes on his tongue when Liam’s hand slips to his belt, slams his club into the ball so hard it soars off, passes the hole by a football field.

“Fuck,” he groans, and Liam laughs.

“I think you get a gold star for effort.”

“Not a good lay?”

Liam laughs again. It’s like he’s laughed more with Harry in these few hours than he has the entire year. He can’t even remember what annoyed him in the first place.

“Maybe both?”

—

“How old are you anyway?”

He turns to look at Liam over his shoulder, watching him as he shrugs his khakis down past his knees.

The light is dimming steadily in the locker room, but he somehow still looks gorgeous. The background’s pale tile and those stupid muscular thighs, those stupid big hands and those stupid lips that seem to be permanently pouted.

“Twenty-seven,” he says, “You?”

Harry smiles.

“I only just turned twenty. I suppose this would count as you corrupting me.”

The lights flicker again then dim, and Liam’s skin looks like it’s on fire. Everything gold and bronze and the hollows of his cheekbones where the shadows seem almost burgundy.

“If I end up going to jail for this, I fully intend to let the world know who talked about kissing who first.”

“You offered to get on your knees,” Harry reminds him, tensing a bit when Liam’s chest is finally pressed to his back. When he can feel how hard he is, straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

“ _Promised_ ,” Liam whispers against the back of Harry’s neck and he’s not even embarrassed at the shiver that trails up his spine.

“I could do this, just this, all night,” Liam says, pressing his big hands on Harry’s hips, then up to his shoulders. Down again, “You’ve got a great back.”

And with Liam so close, hands flirting with the band of his pants, even Harry’s laugh sounds horny as hell.

“Not sure if I should be flattered or creeped out.”

“Whichever gets you naked faster.”

He trails his lips down Harry’s neck, not quite kissing- gentle touches until he drops to his knees. Until his mouth is at the base of his spine and everything that was mild nervousness before is now white hot heat and the sort of blinding arousal that has him muttering complete nonsense under his breath, begging Liam to part him slowly and show him why no one ever shuts up about his stupid tongue like it was carved by angels.

One big hand wraps around to settle on his lower stomach and he has about a second to think  _Weird_  before Liam’s other hand is on his lower back again, fingers slipping into the band of his boxers and teasingly slowly pulling them down.

With Harry’s growing erection in the way, it takes a little more effort than it should. Harry leans against the wall more, pressing the side of his face to the light marble, before slipping his hands past Liam’s at his stomach and sliding his boxers down a little. Just enough that Liam can take over, slipping them down to the middle of Harry’s thighs.

Harry stills, expecting to feel the sudden wetness of Liam’s mouth, but instead he feels his hand again. Feather-light touches with rough fingertips cupping his ass, squeezing a little.  

            He groans and finally there’s the touch of Liam’s lips, but on his upper thigh, just below his bum. Close. So close.

            Liam laughs, squeezing him again before nipping playfully at him with his teeth.

            “You’re going to beg, I can tell,” he murmurs.

            Harry just grinds back a little.

            “I thought you were going to show me how wonderful  _rimming_  is.”

            “I am,” another nip. Followed by a quick kiss. The rough, slick lap of his tongue almost at the line of his cheeks but not quite.

            “Tease,” Harry groans, voice already a little too raw and begging.

            As if that were all the invitation Liam needs, he presses Harry closer with the hand on his groin and uses the other to hold a thumb gently against him. It’s…  _strange_. How suddenly that one touch can travel to his aching dick, making him gasp. Then again when it feels so different. Liam’s finger comes back slick with lube and he twirls it around his hole, never quite slipping inside.

            This isn’t Harry’s first time- he’s had more casual fucks than he could probably count- but it’s the first time someone’s dropped to their knees for him. And it’s the first time they’ve chased his orgasm before their own.

            It kind of makes his heart hurt, if he’s being honest, but he’d rather just focus on the physical stuff instead.

—

            One lick in and he knows he’s done for.

“Oh my fucking god,” He puts one hand on Liam’s over his stomach, thrusts the other back to fist into Liam’s hair behind him. A play at slowing him down so he doesn’t lose control too early, or maybe there’s something dark and pleading in the grip of his fingertips, in the way they flex when Liam’s full lips cup him gently and  _suck_ for one teasingly gut wrenching second then open wider again to allow his tongue to slip inside.

He stutters, jerking up onto his toes, breath hitching, and Liam yanks him back.

            Liam moans then as if just this is enough to have him hard and throbbing. Harry, needless to say, is a mess. His curls matted to his forehead by a thin film of sweat, breaths loud and uneven, some strange mixture of a grunt and a moan slipping into the air and pooling at their feet- “ _Ungh_ -” every time Liam pulls back a little to run his tongue roughly up the puckered skin of his hole. And sighs when he leans away, presses his thumb there instead, barely any pressure. Then the brief hitched breath as he tries to hold in a scream when Liam blows softly on his inflamed skin and it feels like every muscle in his body goes taut and betrays him.

            He wonders absently between licks if this is what it’s like for girls- this all-encompassing pleasure, a wild rush like you’re on fire but everything feels like the end of the world, your entire existence lodged into your parted lips, moaning encouragement, and between your legs where heaven’s being unceremoniously wrung from your pores.

            Even that noise, that gentle lapping wetness from Liam’s mouth, should be driving him crazy but it isn’t. It’s like every swipe of his large tongue is accented by it. As if he wasn’t having enough trouble keeping himself from coming, that  _noise_ , that ever present sucking slick sound reverberates in the empty locker room and slams back into his groin like a truck.

            And he comes then. Harder than he ever has, shouting obscenities and trembling legs, without Liam even so much as touching his cock.  With just his tongue there, his face nuzzled into Harry’s ass, moaning into the oversensitive skin.

            Harry takes in great heaving breaths, trying to force his vision to clear, to stop his legs from shaking. Liam is no help at all. Pressing his finger to him again and making him shiver.

            He parts him slowly and kisses him, leans back and his voice sounds so much rougher than it had before.

            “How was it?” matter of factly, like they were discussing a board meeting, a bland meal, a particularly dull novel.

            As if in response, Harry drops to his knees, then collapses even more with his legs up under him, turning to face Liam unable to mask the content haze tossed over his features. He lifts his hand and Liam thinks he’s going to give him a high five.

            He pats Liam’s cheek instead, which is somehow even more adorable, “Good job”, then leans back with his eyes closed, a lazy smile on his lips like he’s settling in for the night.

            Liam lets him stay there for nearly a minute. Then lifts Harry’s hand and places it into his lap where, unlike Harry, he’s not quite as satisfied.

            Harry laughs, peeking one eye open to look at Liam accusingly, “What do you want? Trying to enjoy the wake of my orgasm here. This is actually kind of a compliments-to-the-chef sort of thing that I’m all boneless and trembling.”

            Liam tries so hard to keep a straight face, but eventually he’s laughing, too.

            “I’d like to enjoy the same thing if you don’t mind.”

            Harry moves his hand a little in his lap and Liam sucks in a breath.

            “I’m not that good with my tongue, alright. You’d probably be better off with your hand,” but his palm never stills. If anything, the rutting gets rougher. He cups him, running up and down his shaft with slow strokes through his boxers.

            “What are you good at?” His voice, even to himself, sounds so unsteady. There’s something so hot about Harry’s casual touch. How he’s practically asleep, but his hand keeps a slow pace. He flicks his tongue out and wets his lips.

            “I give a pretty good blow job,” Harry admits, “Pretty good back massage. Not-so-bad chicken parmesa.”

            “What are you better-than-good at?”

            Suddenly it seems Liam has his full attention. His hand slows and he sits up a little straighter.

            “Riding,” he says, matter-of-fact, and is pulling Liam’s boxers down a moment later.

            There’s the usual stunned silence, which Liam expects whenever anyone sees him fully. He really has never measured, but by the looks he gets, he’s sure horse jokes aren’t completely unmerited.

            Harry licks his lips again. “Holy fuck.”

            “You still want to?” Liam asks, really only because he doesn’t want to seem like he’s pushing. But he’s so hard now he’s not sure how long he’ll last. Just the thought of Harry in his lap is enough to have his eyes crossing.

            Purely unnecessary caution it seems, as Harry lifts up a little and scoots up Liam’s thighs until they’re nearly chest to chest.

            He puts his hands on Liam’s shoulders and whispers with his lips pressed to his ear.

            “Are you going to work me up more?”

            Liam laughs, his fingers ghosting across Harry’s hole, “Can’t handle it just like this?” he mutters, slipping inside and Harry gasps.

            “ _Octomom_  couldn’t handle it.”

—

            It seemed he made up for his lack of hips by the way he ground them down and forward, round in slow almost teasing circles, Liam clawing at his sides then his ass, then up again, not sure what to do with his hands. His mouth he occupies with Harry’s nipples, playing with one until it’s hard and wet then moving over to the other.

            He notices, lying back a little to watch himself stretching him wide, that Harry is hard again, precum beading at the tip of his cock.

            He waits until he can feel his own orgasm building, until he’s seconds away, before he reaches for him. He takes him into his hand and strokes up. Harry groans and it sounds so loud. He realizes that it’s mixed with his own. Then moans when his thumb presses into the tip and Harry clenches around him, the sort of blinding tightness that nearly takes him to the edge. It’s close, so close, but Harry’s breathy whimpers are what really do him in. How his lips are so red and swollen and he’s muttering  _FuckFuckFuck_  like some desperate chanting plea to keep the upper hand.

            They both come so loudly it’s a while before they can even look at each other. Harry collapses on Liam’s chest and they fall back, a mess of trembling limps and sweat-soaked skin, sticky between them where Harry’d released.

            It takes one glance at the mess a minute later to have them both bursting into fits of laughter. After which Harry winces at a sharp pain between his thighs, punching Liam rather roughly in the chest and cursing his “monster prick” and “devil sperm”.

            They end up showering together and Harry, deciding to be the bigger man, apologizes to Liam for the insults by showing him one of his decent blow jobs.

            Liam accepts the apology by dropping to his knees, turning Harry to face the wall, and briefing him gently between licks on what he’s learned over the years works best for rimming. Harry tries to listen, he really does, but he honestly stops after “lots of saliva” and just focuses on the feel of Liam’s lips and fingers.

—

            “I came with Louis and Zayn,” Harry says while they’re making their way outside.

            Liam just shrugs, “So you need a ride” and Harry nods.

           They get to his car, a massive midnight black coup taking up two parking spaces, and Harry raises his eyebrows, “ _Nice_ ,” then looks like he’s about to say something else, but stops instead, sliding into the passenger seat with his lips pursed.

            “What?” Liam prods.

            “Well,” he says, as they pull out down the wide drive, “I was going to ask if you were compensating for something, but well… you know.” As if it wasn’t obvious enough, he makes a pointed motion to Liam’s crotch, “Not that I’m complaining, but my ass is gonna be sore for a few days.”

            “There are ways to help that,” Liam says, turning left when Harry points.

            “What ways?”

            They pull to a stop at a red light and Liam turns to him.

            “More sex,” he says, reaching across to rest a hand on Harry’s thigh, inching it up, “I hear more sex can do wonders.”


End file.
